Morning arrived without sunlight.
Thick gray clouds smothered the sky, turning dawn into a dull smear of ash. Smoke from burned tents still clung to the air, mixing with the coppery scent of blood. Crows circled above the ruined camp, their cries sharp and accusing.
Aren Veyl stood awake long before the others stirred.
Sleep had come easily to him.
That, more than anything else, unsettled him.
He watched the camp from a small rise overlooking the battlefield. Soldiers moved slowly, silently, collecting bodies and broken weapons. No one spoke loudly. No one laughed. Even the priests whispered their prayers, as if afraid the gods themselves might be listening too closely.
Fear lingered.
And fear fed him.
[Emotion Intake: Residual Fear]
Synchronization: 41% → 42%
Aren flexed his fingers, feeling the faint hum of power beneath his skin. It wasn't dramatic—no blazing aura or overwhelming force.
But it was there.
Stable.
Controlled.
This was the difference between his shadows and Leonhardt's light.
Light demanded attention.
Shadows endured.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Slow. Heavy. Hesitant.
Aren didn't turn.
"You're awake early," Leonhardt said.
His voice was hoarse.
Aren glanced sideways.
The hero looked… different.
His golden cloak was stained and torn. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and the confident straightness of his posture had softened, like a blade left too long in the rain.
"Heroes don't sleep well after their first failure," Aren replied calmly.
Leonhardt flinched.
"I won," Leonhardt said. "The monsters retreated."
"You survived," Aren corrected. "That's not the same thing."
Silence stretched between them.
Below, a stretcher passed by—two soldiers carrying the body of a young priest. His hands were still clasped together in prayer.
Leonhardt watched until the body disappeared.
"…I didn't know," he said finally.
Aren waited.
"I didn't know my power would draw them," Leonhardt continued. "The scriptures never mentioned anything like that."
"Scriptures mention what keeps people obedient," Aren said. "Not what keeps them alive."
Leonhardt turned sharply.
"You talk as if you know the gods are false."
Aren met his gaze.
"I talk as someone who's watched them stay silent."
The Shadow System pulsed softly.
[Dialogue Impact Registered]
Hero Doubt: Deepening
Reward Progress: 82%
Leonhardt looked away.
"Last night," he said quietly, "when you used your power…"
"Yes?"
"For a moment," Leonhardt admitted, "I thought you were the monster."
Aren's lips curved slightly.
"And now?"
Leonhardt hesitated.
"…Now I'm not sure who the monster was."
Good.
Very good.
The council's response arrived before noon.
A messenger hawk screamed overhead, circling once before landing near the command tent. The sealed scroll it carried bore the sigil of both the Empire and the Holy Church.
Joint authority.
Joint control.
Aren read the message in silence while Leonhardt stood nearby.
His expression didn't change.
Leonhardt frowned. "What does it say?"
Aren folded the parchment.
"They're sending an Inquisitor."
Leonhardt stiffened.
"That's unnecessary," he said quickly. "The situation is under control."
Aren finally looked at him.
"Inquisitors are never sent because things are under control."
A hush fell over the nearby soldiers.
Inquisitors were legends wrapped in fear—agents of the Church authorized to judge heroes, nobles, and even kings. Their word outweighed evidence. Their faith outweighed truth.
Leonhardt swallowed.
"They'll investigate everything," he said. "The battle. Your actions. My—"
"—doubt?" Aren finished softly.
Leonhardt didn't deny it.
Aren's shadow stretched faintly across the ground.
"Then you should be careful," Aren said. "Doubt is heresy."
They arrived at dusk.
Three figures rode into camp atop pale, expressionless horses. At their center was a woman clad in white armor etched with scripture, her helm tucked beneath one arm.
Her eyes were silver.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
The camp grew colder as she dismounted.
"Inquisitor Seraphine," a priest whispered in terror.
She surveyed the ruins calmly, her gaze lingering on the broken altar, the scorched earth, the bloodstains that prayer had failed to wash away.
Her eyes stopped on Aren.
They narrowed—just slightly.
"Prince Aren Veyl," she said. "You smell of shadow."
Aren inclined his head politely.
"And you smell of lies," he replied.
Gasps erupted.
Leonhardt's heart nearly stopped.
Seraphine smiled.
The interrogation began immediately.
Witnesses were summoned one by one—soldiers, priests, villagers. Seraphine listened without interruption, her silver eyes glowing faintly as she filtered truth from fear.
She asked about the monsters.
About the prayers.
About the shadow that crushed a beast's skull.
Eventually, she turned to Leonhardt.
"Hero," she said, voice smooth as polished steel. "Did Prince Aren's interference save lives… or endanger faith?"
Leonhardt froze.
Every eye turned to him.
This was it.
The moment.
In the original story, Leonhardt condemned Aren without hesitation.
The crowd cheered. The Church marked Aren as irredeemable.
But this was no longer the original story.
Leonhardt remembered the altar shattering.
The monsters swarming toward his light.
The shadow pulling death away from his spine.
"…He saved us," Leonhardt said.
The world seemed to tilt.
Seraphine's smile didn't falter—but something cold flashed behind her eyes.
"Saved you," she repeated. "With forbidden power."
"Yes," Leonhardt said. "But if he hadn't—"
"That will be enough," Seraphine interrupted.
She turned to Aren.
"Shadow arts are prohibited," she said. "Yet you used them openly."
"I did," Aren agreed.
"Why?"
Aren met her gaze without flinching.
"Because your faith was killing people faster than the monsters."
Silence.
Dead.
Absolute.
Then—
Laughter.
Seraphine laughed softly, shaking her head.
"How interesting," she murmured. "A villain who speaks like a judge."
She stepped closer to Aren.
"Tell me, Prince," she whispered, "do you hate the gods… or do you simply want their throne?"
The Shadow System roared.
[Major Event Triggered]
Inquisitor Interest: High
Threat Level: Extreme
Hidden Route Detected
Aren smiled.
"Is there a difference?"
For the first time—
Seraphine looked genuinely amused.
That night, Aren stood alone again, shadows coiling gently at his feet.
The system interface flared.
[Shadow Skill Unlocked]
Name: Veil of Silent Blasphemy
Effect: Nullifies divine detection within range
Cost: Continuous Hatred Exposure
Aren exhaled slowly.
"So now I'm invisible to gods."
Behind him, unseen, Seraphine watched from the darkness—silver eyes gleaming.
"Villain," she whispered to herself, smiling.
"This world might finally become interesting."